


Isn't it obvious?

by FalseConfidence



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Groundhog Day, M/M, Minor Hank Anderson/Connor, Minor Original Chloe | RT600/North, Time Loop, time travel - kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:41:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25344121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FalseConfidence/pseuds/FalseConfidence
Summary: The thing is, as Nines pads back into the bedroom with the sole focus of finding his phone, fate has clearly decided that he’s spent the first two odd decades of his life without getting a real, truly effective, sucker punch to the gut.To rectify it’s mistake it then provides said sucker punch in the form of a gruff: “What’re you doin’ up so early?”---Or the one where Nines finds himself unwittingly in the possession of one Gavin Reed.
Relationships: Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed
Comments: 19
Kudos: 26





	Isn't it obvious?

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the first thing I've posted in what feels like forever, but after finally sitting down and watching the masterpiece that is Detroit Evolution I remembered how much I loved this pair that I ended just writing about 20k of random fic ideas down without any real plan before ending up with this.
> 
> So here's a really messy three-piece fic where Gavin's actually got his shit fairly together (as much as a trashcan is able) and Nines is the confused hot mess for once.

It’s his contacts that are to blame for not realising immediately, or to be more precise, the lack of said contacts. It’s the only credible answer that Nines has when he rolls over with a heavy groan and fumbles in the dark for his phone to no avail and notices nothing immediately awry.

His old digital clock that illuminates the time in large enough neon numbers that even his barely there vision can see and tells him it’s a little after three in the morning. The little stamp underneath with the date doesn’t draw his attention when a small sliver of his brain is trying to logically tell him that there’s no real reason he should be awake.

Again, he’s not impressed with himself when he has time to reflect later on.

Then the swirling contents of his stomach shift and require immediate attention before he does something stupid like throw up in his own bed. He groans, head sticky and dripping like molasses as he feels his way blindly to the bathroom, filled with an overwhelming need to empty his bladder and then deal with the fuzz behind his teeth that seems to have grown a whiskey infused hide and makes him feel like he’s about to retch.

Now here comes the first real sign, his ensuite has morphed from a moderate space to what to his blurry eyes register as a mammoth landscape of epic proportions.

The tiling's wrong, even blurred as it is, the colour no longer a neutral shade but a series of cold tones in blue and grey. The sink has a pair of toothbrushes sticking out of a little ceramic pot, mismatched towels piled up on a shelf. There’s a strange familiarity to it all, the sound a small extractor fan kicking in that hums at just low enough a tone that Nines can tell whoever bought it has precisely the same sort of tastes as himself. Quiet, soothing, a pleasant backdrop.

This is not his bathroom.

 _There’s a tub_.

Nines brings his face close enough that his abysmal eyesight can register a genuine to fuck claw footed bath tub with a series of bath bombs of every size and colour imaginable in a little caddy at the end. He runs a finger over one obnoxiously bright ball and lifts it to his nose to inhale what smells like a synthetic mix of blueberries and… well he isn’t sure what else this monstrosity is meant to be. What he does know is that it’s taken place of the over the top rain shower head that Connor proudly helped fix into place a few weeks ago… an early present.

 _There we go_ , Nines thinks to himself proudly as he uses the powers of deduction that only a severely hungover idiot can employ.

He’d gotten drunk last night with Connor and a few friends for their birthday and come home with whatever bar fuck he’d found decently attractive to get him hard enough to make it a tolerable experience.

Easy answer. Slightly disappointing that he’s got such low standards that he’d accept whatever creep decided that his blacked out state must be worth their time though.

Nines sighs in resignation thinking about it as he finds his glasses, _why the hell are they here and not in their case on his night stand at home,_ and puts them on with a relieved sigh. The world focuses and at the same time feels like it shifts infinitesimally, even his own reflection looks strange. He’s only got on a pair of too large sweats, soft navy coloured, they’re slack in the thighs and a little too short, riding above his ankles, and they smell _strange_.

He’s finds a sealed pack of toothbrushes in the cabinet above the sink and sinks a nail into the perforated edges to open it and steal one. Which, he rations as he vigorously scrubs his teeth until he can flick his tongue against them without feeling nauseated, is only fair all things considered. He gears himself up to face whoever he’s gone home with and collect his belongings with as much dignity as he can gather.

The thing is, as he pads back into the bedroom with the sole focus of finding his phone, fate has clearly decided that he’s spent the first two odd decades of his life without getting a real, truly effective, sucker punch to the gut.

To rectify it’s mistake it then provides said sucker punch in the form of a gruff: “What’re you doin’ up so early?”

Nines stomach lurches with all the vehemence that a likely full bottle of whiskey can only manage as a head pops out from under the covers, bedraggled and so very fucking familiar.

There has been a mistake, a great one, of epic proportions.

“What are you doing here?” He blurts out.

Gavin Reed looks back at him, confusion writ in the lines of his face, then even worse morphs into a heavy dose of concern mixed with something undefineable. “I fucking live here last time I checked.”

“Then why am _I_ here?”

Gavin looks at him distrustfully now. “Because you live here prick.”

Nines _panics_.

And in a, quite frankly embarrassing display of awkward, sluggish horror he stumbles backwards and his feet tangle in his confusion until he’s falling back, head bouncing off of the floor with a force great enough that he blacks out.

\----

This time when Nines wakes up he’s lying on top of the couch, propped up with pillows, a thin blanket pulled up to his chest, which given how hot it is, is more than plenty. There’s a low throbbing going from his right temple and radiating down to just below his cheekbone, and before he eventually succumbs to opening his eyes and confirming it, he knows that he’s probably got one hell of a black eye coming in.

The biggest drawback to a near flawless memory, _or so he’d bloody thought_ , is that even as the room blurs and shifts around him without his damn contacts or glasses he’s already perfectly recalling what just happened.

Not that he’d be hard pressed to remember when Reed’s leaning over him with a bag of frozen mixed vegetables and pressing it with a surprising gentleness to his face.

“Shit.” He says.

“I’ll say, what the fuck are you playing at, idiot.”

It isn’t a question, and Nines ignores it in favour of trying to sit up properly. Too soon really, but he pushes aside the discomfort and manages with a lot of effort, _and little bit of Gavin’s help_ , to be in a relatively upright position.

“Go steady, you might have a concussion.”

“I’m fine.”

To his disbelief Reed brings up four fingers too close to his face for comfort. “How many am I holding up?”

“Four.”

“What’s you name?”

“Nines.”

“ _Full_ name.”

“None of your business.” Nines tries to put as much effort into producing an intimidating scowl to compensate for how ridiculous he feels.

Instead it seems to reassure Gavin, has him grinning in relief of all things. “At least you’re still a prissy bitch. How long have we lived here?”

Nines hears the _we_ and his heart freezes for a beat and then races.

Gavin mistakes his silence for confusion. “Alright here's an easier one. What's the date?”

“Sixteenth of August twenty-twenty three.

And that relief disappears off of Gavin’s face. “You’re about two years off there.”

No he’s not. There’s no way he’s wrong about this. He can’t be, and yet when Nines is passed his only slightly cracked glasses and Gavin turns the television to a live broadcast, the dates undeniably there.

“Fuck.” Another swear. It feels good given the circumstances.

“What if you have a concussion?” Reed mutters primarily to himself, panic evident in his tone. “Should I call Connor?”

“ _No_.” Nines tenses involuntarily at the thought of his brother knowing that he decided to sleep with one Gavin Reed. Even if apparently, according the news, and the man hovering next to him, it’s twenty-fucking-twenty-five. Really given the context it should be the least of his concerns.

Reed flinches at the vehemence in his voice.

“No, thank you.” He remedies. “I think I must have drank too much last night. My apologies. Do you know where my phone is?”

“Here. It was under one of the pillows.” Reed presses it into his hand, brow creasing when Nines snaps it away a little too quickly. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. Though I would appreciate something caffeinated.” Nines says, nails tapping against the back of his phones still reassuring gunmetal grey case.

Reed considers him for a second before disappearing in the direction of the kitchen, muttering to himself quiet enough that Nines couldn’t hear him if he wanted to.

Which he doesn’t. It’s easy to ignore him actually as he swipes the screen to unlock his and breathes out a sigh of relief when the facial recognition registers him. If he’d had to try and decipher what sort of passcode some future, Gavin Reed dating version of himself, _because what other answer is there,_ might have used he has no idea what he would have done. Because he’s not verifiably insane like this Nines is.

What Nines never even considers might be a problem, and certainly doesn’t help, is the background he has saved.

Yesterday, or what should be yesterday, he had an aesthetically pleasing photo of the Detroit skyline illuminated against the night sky North snapped for a photography elective. Now?

Now there's a slightly off-kilter selfie. He’s slouched back, in a position that must have felt like his spine was on fire after such a short time not that this previous version of himself displays even the slightest degree of discomfort. No his face is downturn, lips pressed into mussed and dishevelled hair where Reed’s fast asleep against him. They’re tangled together, the angle modest enough that it doesn’t delve much lower than their exposed collarbones and Nines _knows_ that they’re naked past the cut off section.

Don’t ask how. He just knows.

Reed’s arms are stretched around his middle, his biceps bulging in a manner that suggests he’s clinging with the strength of rabid koala bear that has no intention of ever relinquishing it’s prize. Not that it seems Nines minds. At all. In the slightest. Because as he looks at whatever version of himself he’s staring at, Nines realises something that borders on insanity.

He’s never looked so…

Peaceful.

Fond.

A little bit in…

Nines rubs his thumb over the image as if it’ll erase the sight of his free hand clasping loosely around the back of Reed’s neck, supporting the weight of the man slumped against him.

He just looks so… _happy_.

“Fuck!” Reed curses from the kitchen as the smell of burnt toast wafts into the room.

“Fuck.” Nines agrees.

Then once again, for good measure.

“ _Fuck_.”

\----

The day passes in mostly a blur, something that feels understandable when he considers the fact he is in fact now sporting one hell of a black eye and currently, and very unwillingly, in possession of a human shaped sewer rat. If he wasn’t certain that this is all one awful kind of fever dream, a by-product of far too much alcohol with Connor’s brand of celebratory cocktails, he might be more alarmed.

As it is he finds himself falling asleep again at one point and waking up early in the evening still on the same day and Gavin Reed still hovering beside him. Sometime between dressing and finishing the overcooked, but admittedly considerate, dinner Reed produces for him, Nines skulks through the apartment with the sort of feverish obsession of a man that’s woken up out of time in the bed of a man that he’s only ever regarded with a distinct sneer before.

“How the fuck are you moving without being sick?” Reed doesn’t look up from where he’s propped over a counter, clutching a large mug.

“Your cooking revitalised me.” Nines lies as he stares in betrayal at the photograph of he and Gavin coated in large splashes of paint in this very living room. The colour of which he already knows is the perfect shade of Benjamin Moore's gentle cream, the shade he prefers and can near perfectly imagine how he would have insisted on it.

When he eventually realises that it’s grown silent he moves his attention away from his record player where it’s nestled beside some kind of gaming console – definitely Reed’s– and watches with wide eyes at the red flush currently creeping across the man’s cheekbones to the tips of his ears.

“It’s goddamn unnatural, is what it is.” Reed huffs and takes a shuddering draw from his mug. “No man should be moving around after knocking himself out.”

He’s still blushing though.

Nines doesn’t stop looking until long after it’s considered polite and way too long after what he could argue comes from a stance of disinterest.

\----

By the time the sky outside darkens Nines has no idea what to do. He’s wearing a hole into the floorboards when the clock slowly approaches midnight. Reed’s been watching him with increasing degrees of wariness for most of the night and Nines hasn’t been able to regulate his thoughts well enough to provide any reasonable answer to his so called partner why he’s not joining him in bed. Their bed.

 _Fuck_.

There’s got to be something he’s missing here, something peculiar or amiss that he can’t quite grasp. How can it be only last night that he was drinking to a rather excessive degree with Connor, and yet today he’s here with Gavin. In their own apartment, who he’s apparently dating despite the less than pleasant manner that they’ve operated within for the six months that Nines has known him. It might not even go amiss to say that if they weren’t in an actual police academy together that it’d be a real stretch of the imagination that they’d have gone beyond the verbal sniping by now.

Which, of course, apparently they’ve become physical in a whole other way.

He’d probably be able to work it out to explain what’s going on if it weren’t for the increasing pressure that’s starting to form what will, from past experience, inevitably turn into a migraine.

“Lie the fuck down will you, you can worry about whatever it is in the morning.” Gavin finally pipes up impatiently.

Nines doesn’t want to because the last time he fell asleep, passing out aside, he’d woken up in this predicament. Who’s to say where he might end up next time?

The thing is, in the end, it’s as if his body moves on autopilot Nines finds himself first perching awkwardly at the edge of the bed and then finally laying down atop it still fully dressed. Reed seems satisfied with his progress from frantic pacing to a stiff mannequin, which again, Nines can’t fathom a world where the antagonistic shit could ever dredge up even a modicum of patience.

And yet here they are.

In Nines’ fever dream he reminds himself.

When it’s only a few minutes shy of midnight, Nines finds himself inexplicably drawing the sheets back and sliding under with a disgruntled sound then, like some sort of children’s fairy-tale, he’s asleep the second his head hits the pillow.

\----

So the good news is that his face feels smooth to the touch and no longer tender and swollen. The less positive is that he’s woken up in the same room, a little later in the morning to be fair, still with one hell of a hangover, and left with no honest way to lie to himself that he’s alone when Gavin Reed is starfished across the majority of the bed.

Really if he wasn’t in a state of solemn disbelief and bristling with even more indignation that the universe really is this cruel, then Nines would have to take note of the decidedly lacking state of Reed’s bed sharing etiquette when both occupants are half dressed. The idiots stretched across Nine’s stomach, breathing out in these occasional little huffs that blow air in a manner that’s definitely annoying and not in any manner ticklish.

His phone, when he stretches awkwardly to blindly feel under their pillows, is where the man said it’d be. Nines ignores the disgruntled sound as he shifts to hold it angled away just in case he wakes. The date confirms what he already knows, it’s the sixteenth. Again. Somehow he’s found himself stuck not only in some version of his future but in a loop on the same precise day. Nines eyes the ceiling suspiciously and he’d like to think that he’s glaring directly at whoever’s up there fucking around with him.

Connor’s number is interestingly the last he called, incessantly even, and when he taps the little _i_ to see the full contact details the picture he’s saved is one of Connor with his arms around a ridiculously oversized dog.

Calling his brother is out of the question when he’s still not entirely sure how he can extricate himself without waking his human paperweight and having to deal with questions he doesn’t have any answers for. Instead he settles to opening up an instant messaging app that he’s grateful he still uses in the future, almost cheers when he sees the little green icon besides Connor’s name and tries to find a polite way to give voice to the panic that keeps pulsing under his skin.

 **Nines (11.42)** : I require immediate assistance.

 **Connor (11.43) :** And I require a time machine, or lacking that something to put me out of my misery.

 **Nines (11.43) :** I’m serious.

 **Connor (11.44) :** So am I. I think my heads going to explode.

Nines is about to throws his phone against the wall out of a foreign burst of frustration when it vibrates.

 **Connor (11.47) :** What’s the matter?

That’s a very open ended question, one that Nines isn’t too sure how to answer asides from the immediate truth, and really what’s the worst he can do when the day’s only going to reset anyway by the looks of it.

 **Nines (11.51) :** Gavin Reed is in my bed.

 **Connor (11.52) :** I’ve been telling you that’s a problem for the last 18 months Nines.

A swell of sickness rises and Nines quickly quashes it with a vengeance.

 **Nines (11.53) :** Can we meet up?

 **Connor (11.54) :** Give me at least an hour.

Okay that’s something, at least he’s got a chance to settle his own stomach, before his phone goes off again.

 **Connor (11.59) :** Maybe 2. I have an immediate date with my toilet to honour first.

_Jesus._

Nines stares at his phone and considers how they can possibly be related when he feels more than hears the stuttering breath against his chest.

“You alright?” Gavin murmurs and yawns in a manner that is most definitely not adorable when his nose twitches. The scar on it is even more memorable in the light when Nines can see properly out of both eyes. “My head hurts.”

Then Gavin leans up as if he’s going to kiss him and Nines tenses without thinking, pulling back until he’s leaning against the headboard.

“I feel sick.” He says, truthfully. Sort of.

Reed blinks and Nines waits for him to grow defensive, to gripe and swear excessively. He can handle that, he’s always been the one to perfectly curtail and shut down Gavin’s nonsense before. What he isn’t anticipating is the hand that thrusts out, palm resting over his forehead, gentle, far _far_ too gentle.

“Yeah, you look like shit.” Gavin rolls over and stands, slightly unsteady, stretching his arms up until something in his back makes an unpleasant crack. Not that Nines could say he’s noticing around this bizarre stare off he’s having with the curve of Gavin’s spine.

“Are you finished?”

“What?” He finally asks.

Gavin grins, toothily, at catching him out and Nines instantly reaffirms his dislike. “Holy trinity?” And when he receives a nonplussed look he continues. “Pills, coffee and breakfast.”

“Oh, yes, that would be pleasant.”

“Got it, try not to hurl on my side.” Gavin winks lopsidedly and then he’s off and moving with far more speed than Nines is capable of right now.

“Don’t burn the toast.” He calls out absently.

“Fuck you.”

Though when Reed swaggers in a half hour later carefully balancing two plates, a pair of steaming mugs of coffee and a matching set of paracetamol with all the balance that only someone who’s spent an unhappy summer in the service industry can manage, Nines is pleasantly surprised to find he’s been listened to.

Even stranger to see Gavin’s red face when he groans appreciatively around a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

\----

“I wasn’t sure what to get you.” Connor says in lieu of a proper greeting when Nines eventually slumps into a chair opposite him in the diner. His brother’s stretched out in his chair, wearing a charcoal coloured shirt that’s coated in dog hair and all but stretching his neck out vainly to display the hickey peeking out just above the neckline.

There’s a steaming drink opposite him, black and thick as tar, and if there’s only one positive from this cluster fuck then for Nines it’s going to be the fact that he can technically poison himself as much as he likes in a single twenty-four hour period and not risk the chance of his heart exploding.

“Reed already made lunch.” Nines explains, and sets about pouring sugar from little paper sachets because he doesn’t truly hate himself despite what everyone likes to tell him. “This is good, thanks.”

“Thought we both might need it.” Connor is a little peaky, and Nines can smell the faintest scent of fruity cocktails and what he thinks is a relatively familiar musk that’s distinctly _not_ Connor. “I can’t believe how much I drank last night. I swear that I was still seeing things on my way here… unless there really was a unicycling Labrador going backwards down the street-”

The cautious hope Nines had built up that he may be in some sort of induced coma is disappointingly starting to fade.

“-and how is the sewer rat this morning?”

Nines hums and takes a sip of still burning coffee and tries to think of a positively neutral answer while not appearing alarmed as he is that apparently the nickname is a shared one. “He’s well. A little hungover.”

“I bet, I don’t know how you two got through the door after Chloe dropped you off. She and North had a thing going that one of you would end up sleeping in the stairwell.”

“North went out with us?” By that he really means _you_. The redhead has never been shy about her distaste for his brother’s eager disposition.

“Of course,” Connor says, “she’s your friend. Plus, there’s no way I could have coped with you, Gavin and North _that_ drunk at the same time.”

So he was drunk last night. Well last night in this tim zone, and supposedly the last. It’s one similarity as least, although not really unexpected given it was their birthday. He’s surprised that he’d allowed himself to become the level of drunk where, as Connor delightfully shows him the pictures on his phone, he’d been intoxicated to the degree that the latter half of images are mostly of him slouching against Gavin’s side, grinning brightly at the man in nearly every single one. Even when Connor, or North with her undeniable smirk are in the frame it seems this version of himself is primarily fixated on the man he’s in one shot _kissing_ with wild abandon.

Nines slumps down in his seat and tries to make sense of what the hell could have changed within him in two short years to allow such a fundamental change as this. He abhors public displays or any kind, feels something coiling agitatedly in his spine at the mere thought of losing control in such a vivid display.

“Nines, are you alright.” Connor stops rambling and swiping past yet another photo of the group, alongside two others that he can’t quite place, in various states of merriment and straightens up in his chair. “You seem off.”

“I’m fine.” He replies reflexively. Although he’s sorely tempted to say something, anything on the slim chance that Connor might understand.

“Are you sure?”

“Sure,” he swallows another gulp of coffee and tries to phrase his next thought correctly, “I’m just feeling overwhelmed with life right now.”

Connor nods, waiting patiently for him to clarify.

“It feels like it’s been a dream. This relationship…” He trails off and banks on Connor being unable to resist continuing, and like the wonderfully predictable man he is-

“I don’t think any of us thought you’d last the year.” Connor grins, proud and way too pleased for someone else's relationship. Though why Nines thinks this he isn’t sure, it’s certainly not a trait he shares, a reason why he’s never been the preferred twin. “Hank’s still frustrated he lost that particular bet.”

“Hank?” It slips out before Nines can stop it, judgemental and harsh, as it’s some form of muscle memory to dislike the name.

If he was watching Connor so absolutely, if maybe he’d blinked at the wrong second he’d have missed it. This is very clearly an ongoing argument between them, one that doesn’t make sense when he can’t remember who the fuck Hank is. “Don’t start Nines, my heads hurting too much for this.”

Then Nine remembers Hank. Rough cut, strikingly handsome in the way that large powerful hands and broad rounded shoulders are, and a good decade and a half older than them to boot. They’ve only met once, at least in Nines’ memory, some bigshot in the precinct Nines was considering working who came to talk about the process of becoming a detective.

Nines can still remember the moon eyes Connor gave when he tried to unsubtly appear at the end to pick him up.

Which, shit, how hasn’t he thought about this before this very second. Does he have a job? Did he ever finish in the academy?

“Where did I go wrong?” He asks half to himself, half to whatever deity up there is currently having a blast at his expense.

“Probably when you moved in with a sewer rat.” Connor gripes, a little moody now. “Seriously what’s up with you today?”

There’s not enough coffee in this diner to answer that on a normal day so Nines settles with a kind of truth. “Hit my head this morning, sorry.”

It flattens the swell of what promised to be one of Connor’s indignant rants and instead garners him the immediate sympathy that he hadn’t been aware he wanted in some form.

“ _What_?” Connor stands and before Nines knows it his heads being tilted back with an expert touch, fingers probing gently across his skull. “Why didn’t you say so, I could have come to yours.”

Because Gavin’s there and the last time Nines remembers speaking about him to Connor it hadn’t been a conversation filled with much positivity then. Instead he shrugs and reluctantly pushes Connor away. “I’m fine, it wasn’t that bad.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Connor says. “You don’t want to mess around with concussions Nines.”

Never one to miss an opportunity, Nines seizes this one desperately. “Well then you’ll have to keep me company for the rest of the afternoon then.”

Connor’s look is just this side of suspicious that Nines thinks he’s going to be called out but in the end his brother just nods and flags down a waitress to get them another round of drinks (water for Nines) and a stack of pancakes, _heavy on the syrup_.

\----

When there’s little more that Nines can do to drag the day out, Connor eventually insists that he return _home_.

Suffice to say when they finally get back to the apartment a little after the evening rush hour Nines is no less confused after carefully probing at Connor’s life for the better part of six hours.

Nothings overtly different asides from the fact that they no longer live together. Connor’s still in the middle of his degree, still planning to become a doctor, the only thing that throws Nines is this sudden obsession with working in family medicine. It’s not that he can’t see how perfect Connor would be at that, more that he can’t imagine a world where Amanda allows such a thing. But Connor never brings her up and so Nines doesn’t risk it either. One does not underestimate the power of a name when it comes to the devil herself.

The dog hair, Nines comes to find out as they walk around this niche little pet store that Connor seems to adore in the search of a perfect chew, is from _Hank’s_ dog. Not that there’s anything happening Connor insists on multiple times, just that they’re _friends_ and Connor likes to walk this monster masking as a canine, _Sumo_ , whenever he’s had a stressful day on his course. The very same Sumo that’s in the picture Nines has saved of him.

How this arrangement came about Nines doesn’t know and he has no interest in finding out, though if he does ever end up breaking out of this strange little cycle he’s gotten tangled up in he swears he’s going to have stern words with his brother. But the thing is, when they’re in the middle of grabbing ice creams from a vendor, _because he’s fucking fine Connor and it’s eighty-five degrees_ , Nines realises that aside from the glaring, Gavin Reed shaped disaster that he’s yet to unravel, everything else in his future life, at least according to Connor, is perfect.

He’s wrapped up in this information enough, sufficiently distracted until he’s bought back into the present by the keys he produces to his apartment. His shared apartment. A shared apartment with a man that he genuinely felt nothing more passionate than disdain for and now, according to the irrefutable evidence on his very phone, feels another more intimate emotion towards.

Gavin’s in the middle of a film when Nines walks in, he’s only wearing a matching pair of sweatpants to the ones Nines woken up in twice now, another sign that apparently he’s comfortable enough to steal clothes from the guy. He gets up with an unsteady lurch, shaking out a dead leg with a curse, and Nines feels dumbfounded at the happy grin he’s given before Gavin’s eyes roll.

“You know that you’re meant to take the trash out, not bring it in baby.”

Nines is so caught up in the easy term of endearment that it causes a temporary lag in his brain.

Connor tuts. “It’s always such a delight to see you Gavin.”

“Twice in less than a day is too much for me personally.” Gavin disappears into the kitchen and emerges with a bottle of water. “I mean, how did God go so right with one of you and fuck up this badly on the other?”

“I actually do feel bad about that.” Connor says mournfully.

Gavin looks over his shoulder at him in surprise.

“If I’d known Nines was coming out just after me I would have left him some of the charm and beauty, that’s on me.”

“Prick. Absolute, fucking prick.”

“It’s been far too long Gavin since I had to deal with you sober.” Connor replies with a prim upturn of his nose and if Nines didn’t know any better he would say his brother was enjoying himself. “You’re much better company when you’ve had a few drinks.”

“Real tragedy.” Reed snorts loudly, throwing himself over the back of the couch with an ease that shouldn’t be in anyway moderately attractive. “It’s not my fault you’re too busy gargling old man balls to hang out.”

“At least insult me with a line from a show with a superior vocabulary.”

“Fuck you, Connor.”

Nines almost interferes, almost snaps in his brothers defence until he catches the corner of Reed’s mouth turn up, a little uneven on one end. Connor’s no better, eyes wide and mocking as he taps a finger against his chin in consideration.

“I’m afraid not. I’d prefer the scent of ‘old man balls’ than spending another moment being suffocated by that appalling cologne you drown yourself in.”

“Oi!” All of the fingers except one curl into Reed’s palm.

Connor’s walks out, laughter trailing behind him.

“You just gonna stand there all night.” Reed grunts and when Nines looks over he’s actually lifting the neck of his t-shirt up to take a not so stealthy sniff.

_Unbelievable._

\----

Nines wakes on his third morning in what he can only describe as purgatory, partially squinting at the sunlight streaming in through blinds that haven’t been pulled, head a throbbing mess once again, quite clearly still out of time, and there’s a firm line pressing against his ass.

Delightful, he thinks, to notice that first and not the five ‘nine koala bear clinging with an arm firmly fixed around his waist. Reed’s face is tucked in-between his shoulder blades, fingers spread out

It’s almost, and he’s reluctant to concede this even in his own thoughts, comforting. Warm, heart a regular thud that’s rhythmically trying to lull him back to sleep.

All of course pleasant, if one can ignore the dick that’s undeniably hard and flush against him.

Nines, for all of his capabilities, does not that have that sort of super power in his wheelhouse, and sets about carefully extricating himself from the death grip that’s possessively holding him down.

“Lay off,” Reed whines and buries his face further under the covers, stubble scraping over Nines bare skin, “too early for this shit.”

Resisting the urge to glance at him, Nines asks: “What’s the date?” While already knowing the answer.

“Sixteenth.”

That’s irritating, he has no reference as to why he’s here, what he’s done to deserve ending up in this predicament, to have-

Reed’s teeth set against the curve of his neck, with no real pressure but it’s enough that Nines’ lashes flutter for a brief second, hips swivelling back instinctually.

“How do you know…” He trails off.

Of course Gavin will know what has Nines falling apart, how to distract him once his brains started to really grind and crunch against itself, he’s got one hell of an advantage, almost eighteen months worth of time and sex– because there’s no fucking way Nines is calling it _making love_.

An indignant feeling rises in his chest, a sense of unfairness, and for a split second he almost rolls over to challenge the man, draws short when he realises that there’s a thumb rubbing figures of eight into his hipbone, firm and slightly digging as he likes it.

He’s about to instead roll off of the bed and crash to the floor if needs be, just to escape this unsettled heat simmering underneath his skin at the disconcerting reality where for him it’s been a week since he last saw the brunette and for Gavin they’ve never been apart. In the last two years there’s been a shift so monumental between them that he’s here, they’re _together_ and Nines can’t for the life of him work out what the hell it could be that would ever convince him to give this a try. It simply doesn’t make logical sense, and therefore clearly the reason he’s stuck in this loop, or the only one he can think of.

So Nines doesn’t push away, instead he stays there, considering, and neither enthusiastic or disliking what he’s going to have to do. Which is to start brushing up on his rather sparse knowledge of time travel or… try to pinpoint when was the precise moment that he got lost in the confusing mess of Gavin Reed and as a consequence fell in love with him.

Nines can’t decide which seems more impossible.

“You want something to eat?” Gavin mumbles against his skin.

Well, he does work better on a full stomach. “Yeah, that would be great.” Then, as an afterthought, adds, “don’t burn the toast.”

Gavin cheerily flips him off and consequently doesn’t pay attention as he stubs his foot against the wardrobe and unleashes a filthy stream of curses.

Time travel seems like a more viable and far easier option now Nines comes to think about it.

**Author's Note:**

> I kinda used August 15th as Connor and Nines' birthday as I couldn't work out what Connor's initial activation date was in the game and so used the date from The Hostage mission when we first meet Connor. If anyone knows I'd love to find out and change the date on this to match.
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much for reading and I hope you guys enjoyed.


End file.
